


Like Real People Do

by Claire_Fucking_Dearing



Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: Clawen, F/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, fluff/angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 20:41:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4760330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire_Fucking_Dearing/pseuds/Claire_Fucking_Dearing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claire has a nighmare and Owen helps her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Real People Do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> For my Claire Dearing.

_"I'll find the places where you hide/They say the best love is insane/I'll light your fire 'till the last day"_ **What you want _by OneRepublic_**

 

 

 

 

Claire found herself in the shower. 

 

She stripped down to her bra and shorts, tossing her nightshirt in a heap. Turning on the shower, she needed water, she needed noise, she needed release, she needed...

 

The water scorched down her back, soaking her sports bra and black shorts. It drizzled down, sounding like a hurricane. _Claire's heels click on the pavement. She couldn't hear Owen's scream, she couldn't hear the I-rex roaring its roar and claiming its next kill. She could hear the blood pounding in her ears. She felt her life slow. But she couldn't leave them now..._

 

And then the water was hot, _too hot,_ and she clawed at the tiled sides until she twisted the water cold. It was still too hot. Her skin felt all clammy and tight and she couldn't breathe _I can't breathe I can't see I can't.._   Claire spasmed and jerked.  _"Run!" Her voice was hoarse, clammy, tight, but she had to finish this. She had to end what she started. She had to do what she couldn't. But she didn't._

Claire's lungs opened and she took a painful lungful of air. And she screamed.

 

 

Black dots clouded her vision, swimming around and making her see double.

 

But she still screamed.

 

 

 

And she was still screaming when Owen opened the door. Claire was sitting on her haunches, clawing at her ears and biting her lip and drawing blood. Tasting metal and bile and last night's chicken alfredo. Owen wrapped a towel around her shaking frame and guided her out of the shower. He turned the shower off as Claire cried and shook in his arms. 

"It's ok, Claire, it's ok," He repeated over and over and whispered nonsencical words. "It's ok, we're ok. It's over. shh.."

Claire sucked in air and tried to say some snarky comment, like,  _I'm ok, idiot. It was just a silly dream,_ or,  _I'm alright, Owen. Really._ But she choked on her own spit and hacked out a small wad of it onto the floor. It made her dizzy and the world spun and she felt hot, her skin too tight. 

"Breathe Claire... its ok, but you have to breathe," Owen soothed, running his hands up and down her back. She opened her mouth again, but no words came. Just a small whimper as she broke down sobbing and crying and puddling Owen's shirt with sweat and tears and water. "Breathe, baby, breathe.." He repeated and ran a hand though her snarly, wet hair.

 

Claire felt bile rising up her throat as she puked up last nights meal and watery chunks of red everywhere, spraying Owen with it and dousing the towel, herself, and the floor. She shook even harder. 

 

Owen took her hand and sat down on the toilet, pulling her on his lap. He continued to rub her back and whisper soothing words while she puked and her episode passed. Soon she was done, and Owen led her to the shower. He scrubbed off all the chunks of vomit from her face and body and massaged shampoo into her hair. He got her new clothes to change into-- his old Military collage shirt and some clean undergarments-- then guided her back to their room. Claire let him lead her, a numb feeling running through her and she didn't protest . Owen pulled her into bed and wrapped his arm around her as they leaned against the headboard. He then began to comb through her hair, gently ridding all of the knots and snarls.  Once finished, he kisses her. Their kisses become more violent as they deepen it. Soon clothes are thrown and worries are forgotten. The love they forge here is real, always real and passionate and for a reason.

 

They wake up to the rising sun, a tangle of limbs surrounded by a comforter. They put all of the past behind them. Not forgetting, just forgiving; but also using this as a reminder why they wake each day and function.  _Its ok, we're okay,_ Owen told her last night. They were scared; she was scared. And she allows herself to believe him. 

 

 


End file.
